


try to do right what is wrong

by Edgebug



Series: Half-Light 'verse [4]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Donuts, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Graffiti, Implied Past Abuse, M/M, Panic Attacks, general misbehavior, in which he decides that might be okay, in which robbie rotten discovers that he's in a little over his head, it's a happy fic i swear, kids getting stuck up trees, mentions of parent death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 22:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9144271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edgebug/pseuds/Edgebug
Summary: "Am I your fiancé now?" Robbie asks.Sportacus raises an eyebrow and grins. "I certainly hope so," he says, then holds up his left hand, "of course, if you like it, then you should put a ring on it.""Did you just quote Beyoncé?"(In which Robbie Rotten accidentally adopts five kids while trying to marry his boyfriend.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> welp,

"So did Robbie fix things?" Stephanie asks the next time she gets Sportacus alone.

"Hm? Oh! He hadn't done anything wrong, Stephanie, but yes, everything is straightened out."

They play a round of one-on-one basketball. Sportacus doesn't go easy on her, he never does, because that's a form of lying--but he does blatantly handicap himself, lets her tie one hand behind his back so he has to play with his left hand. He still would beat her easily at first, playing as hard as he could with one hand, but she's getting good enough now so that she beats him at least half the time like this.

When they take a break to drink some water and have a snack, Stephanie looks at him, thoughtfully chewing a grape.

"What is it?" he asks, feeling a bit like a bug under a magnifying glass.

"Is he good to you?"

He nods. "Yes, Stephanie, Robbie is very good to me. We are very good to each other. That's how relationships work."

She says something under her breath that sounds like it might be _not all of them._

"What?"

"Nothing, Sportacus." She holds up the basketball. "Best out of three?"

-

Robbie had always known there were kids around, there always are in a suburb, but until Pinky showed up in town they had been pretty much unnoticeable, quiet and cooped up in their homes.

Then Stephanie Meanswell came to town for the summer, and then _stayed_ , and well, now Robbie Rotten is dating an elf who is also the self-appointed protector of the whole ragtag gang of scamps.

Dating, he muses, doesn't seem quite accurate, not after the marriage proposal fiasco. "Am I your fiancé now?" Robbie asks.

Sportacus raises an eyebrow and grins. "I certainly hope so," he says, then holds up his left hand, "of course, if you like it, then you should put a ring on it."

"Did you just quote Beyoncé?"

Sportacus grins and twists his wrist in true Single Ladies fashion. Robbie groans and throws a pillow at him.

"I'm a little _afraid_ to put a ring on you," Robbie grumbles, "Pinky might eat me alive."

"Stephanie?" Sportacus tosses the pillow back onto the bed. "Oh, no, she's as sweet as--"

"If you say 'sports candy' I swear I'll scream."

"--sugar," Sportacus finishes lamely. "Though perhaps you should make friends with the children before we let them know what's going on between us. Of course, Stephanie already knows, she is very perceptive." He smiles, a fond look in his eyes as clearly he thinks of her. "She is such a smart girl!"

" _Too_ smart," Robbie grouses. "How am I supposed to _make friends_ with your kids?"

"My kids?" A dreamy look passes over his features and he shakes it off. "Play with them! Help them with their problems. Talk to them. Just spend time with them, Robbie, you can't force it."

"Sounds difficult," he mumbles. Sportacus is right, though. He can just imagine on their wedding day, the officiant asks if anyone has objections and Stephanie stands up and filibusters the ceremony for six solid hours. The thought makes him cringe. Yes, if he ever wants to marry Sportacus, he'll have to gain her trust first... and the rest of them, too. Pixel, Stingy, Trixie and Ziggy.

"They're good children," Sportacus says, "you'll have no trouble at all."

-

Robbie's sound asleep and sprawled over Sportacus when the damn crystal goes off, beeping loudly right next to Robbie's ear. He yelps a little and yanks back from the noise, blearily rubbing his eyes. "Who's in trouble at ass-o'clock in the morning?" he groans.

"Ziggy's stuck in a tree again," Sportacus says, voice low and a little raspy with sleep. "Go help him."

"Me?" Robbie squeaks.

"You," Sportacus says. "It's the tree near the mayor's house. And find out why he's awake at this hour, too, all right?"

"Why me?!" Robbie says, but he's already getting up and fumbling to get his pants on.

"Because I want to sleep," Sportacus teases with a long, unnecessarily luxurious stretch, his shirt riding up just a little and revealing a tempting stripe of skin between it and the waistband of his boxers, "and also, weren't you saying how you should make friends with the kids?"

"Between the hours of twelve PM and ten PM only," Robbie groans, not bothering with his normal shoes and spats and instead opting for a pair of fuzzy slippers.

"Good luck," Sportacus chirps as Robbie shimmies up the chute and out into the neighborhood.

It's dark, but the sun is just starting to color the eastern horizon ever so faintly. Robbie groans and makes his way over to the mayor's house, looking up into the trees and yes, sure enough, there's the little boy, downy blonde hair an unkempt halo around his head. "Ziggy?" Robbie calls softly, not wanting to wake up the whole street.

"Oh!" The boy clings to the branch he's sitting on, "Robbie!"

"What are you doing up there at this hour?"

"I wanted to get some apples so I could make surprise breakfast for everyone before they woke up but I got stuck," the kid explains, a little panicked, "an' I can't get down!"

"Yes, that's usually what being stuck means," Robbie says with a sigh. "All right, kid. Jump down, I'll catch you."

"I'll hurt you!"

"Please, what are you, six?"

"S-Seven an' a half!"

"Just jump down!" He holds out his arms. Ziggy doesn't move, pale and terror-stricken. Oh, great--the kid's afraid of heights, and climbed a tree anyway. "Nevermind. Don't jump down. Can you stay a few more minutes? I can get something to help."

"I can stay all day," Ziggy squeaks.

It's a short trip to one of Robbie's storage units--he has to have some place to keep all his larger gadgets--which is a good thing, because his cherry-picker is heavy and unwieldy to push. The whole excursion takes maybe ten minutes, which he's fully aware is an eternity to a seven-year-old.

"What's that?!" Ziggy cries when he sees it. Robbie pulls out the unit's stabilizing feet before he climbs in to the lift and turns it on.

"It's called a Genie lift, or a cherry-picker, and I use it to change the light bulbs in my bunker," he explains. "Now just hold on."

The platform rises all the way up to the branch where Ziggy is stuck. "There," Robbie says, now eye-level with him. He holds out his arms. "Now you just have to grab on."

Ziggy giggles and wipes his eyes with the back of one hand before he wraps his little arms around Robbie's neck, letting Robbie pluck him off the branch. "Not so bad, huh?" Robbie asks.

"N-no," Ziggy says. "Can I push the button to make us go back down?"

"Why not." Robbie sets the kid down on the platform next to him. "The red button with the down arrow on it."

Ziggy pushes it and giggles louder as the lift lowers, but looks sad as they climb off the lift.

"What is it?" Robbie asks when the boy starts sniffling. Christ, now what? Hasn't he done enough?

"Now I don't have the apples for breakfast," Ziggy mumbles, "my plan's all messed up, I was gonna make apple pancakes an' everything."

Robbie takes a deep breath. By his reckoning it's a few minutes past five in the morning. The buses are just starting to run. Oh, Gods, is he really about to do this? He could just usher the child back to his home and then hurry back up to the airship and curl up next to Sportacus and go back to sleep, and oh, wouldn't that be nice--

\--but that would mean leaving Ziggy upset and sniffling, tears streaming down his tiny, pudgy face, and...that's not acceptable.

Gods, he's gone soft.

"Plans don't have to stay the same from inception to execution," he says slowly, regretting each word as he says them. "In fact, the mark of a good plan is flexibility in the face of adversity."

"It is?"

"Of course!" He holds up one index finger. "If a plan is so rigid that a simple setback can derail it completely, it's not a very good plan, is it?"

"I guess not...?"

"Of course not. I am a master of plans and schemes," Robbie says with comedically deep haughtiness. Ziggy gives a watery laugh and wipes his eyes, and Robbie continues. "So maybe no apple pancakes, but there is a donut place downtown that has apple-cinnamon-filled donuts, do you think that's close enough?"

Ziggy's eyes widen. "Yeah, that's definitely good enough! Let's go!"

"I think you should wait here while I get them. Your parents probably wouldn't appreciate a strange man whisking you off in the early hours."

"Oh, don't worry! I don't have parents!"

The words are said so casually and simply that Robbie is stunned into silence for a moment.

"You--what?"

"I live with my grandma," Ziggy chirps. "She calls me Frank! Besides, you're not a strange man--okay, well, you're a little strange, but that's okay! You're Robbie! Let's go!"

He shoves his slightly sticky little hand (seemingly covered in a thin layer of candy, _ew_ ) in Robbie's and starts dragging him toward the bus stop. Robbie resists the urge to yank his hand away.

-

At first Robbie thinks a dozen donuts will be enough, but then he realizes that not only does Ziggy wish to feed his friends, but his grandmother as well, and then he thinks that maybe the Mayor will mooch too, and probably Miss Busybody, they're always around, and then he remembers that kids are nothing if not _hungry_. They leave the donut shop with four dozen donuts (only two dozen are apple cinnamon, the rest are a colorful, sprinkle-covered assortment that Ziggy haphazardly picked out from the glass case) and an extra half-dozen for Robbie and Sportacus--three Boston cream donuts and three boringly plain unfrosted cake donuts that look horrible to Robbie, but that have such a low sugar content that Sportacus just might be able to eat them.

"Thank you!" Ziggy squeaks once they get back, staring up at Robbie and almost vibrating out of his skin with glee. "You're the best!"

"That's true," Robbie agrees airily, "now, can you carry these boxes back to your house, or--"

"Yes! I can! Thank you!"

"Get a few more hours of sleep. It's still early." Robbie yawns.

"Okay!" Ziggy sets the boxes down for a second and quickly throws his arms around Robbie's waist. Robbie isn't sure how to respond but it's okay because within seconds the enthusiastic hug is over and Ziggy is grabbing the boxes and scurrying back to his home.

Robbie sighs and shakes his head, watches to make sure Ziggy makes it home before he picks up his own half-dozen and heads back to the bunker. He's going back to sleep come hell or high water.

He finds Sportacus sprawled and asleep on his chair. Robbie sighs and smiles, rolling his eyes and gently pushing on Sportacus to encourage him to move over a bit. The elf wakes up a little, eyelids fluttering open halfway. "How'd it go?"

"He was trying to pick apples for breakfast," Robbie says, "and couldn't, got stuck in a tree, so instead I bought him apple donuts for breakfast."

_"Robbie!"_

"For all his friends too."

Sportacus groans but still smiles. "You are a bad influence on these children."

"You just now noticed?" Robbie settles down beside him, pulls the blanket over them both. "Rethinking the engagement, Sportakook?"

"Never," Sportacus says, and kisses him.

-

Ziggy now waves enthusiastically and yells to greet Robbie whenever he sees him, such as on the way to get groceries or run to the hardware store.

Or on rare days like this, when Sportacus lures Robbie to the surface (with the promise of cake) to eat lunch with him and the children. The rest of the kids greet Robbie with guarded politeness but Ziggy plops down right next to him and starts animatedly talking about...something. Robbie can't really parse what the kid is saying--something about airplanes or superheroes? Maybe both?--but he does his best to make suitably mild, agreeable noises at what seem like they might be the right times. (Mild and agreeable aren't his strong subjects, but he's trying.)

He's...really not familiar with children, and he's not quite sure what he's supposed to be saying, so he's actually grateful for the endless chatter. It gives him a reason to stay mostly silent, even if all the talking is a little overwhelming.

Everyone's eating their own meals, Robbie finishing a tuna sandwich (on an Asiago Focaccia roll, delicious, he loves cake but good bread is a close second) and just starting in on the promised cake--decadent, sinfully rich chocolate with tart, sweet cherries folded in, mm--when there's a panicked wail. He jumps a bit and looks in the direction of the sound. Stingy is frozen and pale, eyes wide and tears forming there.

"What?!" Sportacus gasps, his crystal beeping, "Stingy, what happened?!"

The boy stutters out "M-M--" and can't manage any more, he's starting to hyperventilate, hands shaking even as they clutch at the picnic blanket. Sportacus looks terrified; he reaches out toward Stingy and the kid just yelps louder, twists away and hyperventilates in earnest, each breath a visible struggle, tears streaming down his face.

"All I did was steal one of his chips!" Trixie cries, and the pieces fall into place.

The kid's having a straight-up panic attack because someone touched his food. Robbie's heard of food-aggression, but this isn't aggression, it's just a breakdown.

Did someone starve the child? Take food as punishment? Send him to bed without dinner if he was judged to have acted poorly? Anger at whoever is responsible for this clear, gaping psychological wound bubbles unpleasantly in Robbie's chest.

"Shh!" Robbie shushes Trixie and waves a hand for space; everyone hesitantly scoots away a few feet. "Stingy, listen to me, take a couple of deep breaths."

Stingy can hardly breathe; he paws at his bow tie to loosen it.

"Kid, _look at me."_ Stingy looks up at Robbie, wild-eyed and shaking uncontrollably. Robbie continues. "Nobody's gonna take any more of your stuff. I promise." He's got to make the kid breathe or he's going to pass out. "Now deep breath with me, c'mon."

Stingy struggles through a few breaths and then ruins it by trying to speak again. "N-Nobody's g-gonna take all my--my--"

Robbie's heart breaks a little more.

"Your food's safe, kid. Now I'm serious, keep breathing, it'll slow your heart rate down and make you feel less like you're dying. You're _not_ dying, this will go away."

Stingy whimpers and tries his best to slow down and breathe slowly but it's clearly difficult for him. His eyes flick over to Sportacus and his friends, a hitching sob in his throat, and Robbie can almost feel the pain and embarrassment emanating off of him. The only thing worse than a panic attack is having one in public.

Robbie shoots Sportacus a pleading look, _for the love of God take the kids somewhere else for a few minutes,_ and Sportacus--paralyzed with worry before--seems to read his mind. "C'mon, guys, let's give Stingy some space," Sportacus murmurs, and in moments the rest of the group is on the basketball court, still in sight but safely out of earshot.

Robbie sits with him and reminds him to breathe, reassures him periodically that his food is safe. It takes around twenty long minutes for the kid to calm down, sobs fading to hiccups and shakes dying down. "'M _sorry_ ," is the first thing Stingy says when he can talk.

"Don't be. Happens to lots of people. Tricky should've asked before she touched your food."

The panic attack proper might be over, but the kid still needs some time to recover. They watch the rest of the group playing soccer across the field.

"Does it happen to you?" Stingy asks quietly after a moment.

Robbie hesitates for a moment--he's not used to discussing his mental health with anyone, let alone a twelve-year-old, but he thinks that maybe if he'd known anyone who shared any of his multitudinous ssues when he'd been younger, he'd have felt less like a broken freak. He nods. "Yeah, sometimes," he says.

"Do you always feel so tired afterward?"

He nods again. "Oh, yeah. Like I've run a marathon. _Me_."

Stingy nods and wipes his eyes on his sleeve before he straightens up into his usual regal posture. "Thank you," he says primly.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Sticky."

"It's Stingy," Stingy says archly, then, quieter, "actually, my name's Sebastian." He sticks out a hand very severely like he expects Robbie to shake it.

Is this kid for real? Robbie stares at him for a second before he shakes Stingy's hand. "Robert," he says. "Now you'd better go tell your friends you're okay."

Stingy nods and climbs to his feet. "Very well, I will," he says, and takes a step in the direction of the rest of the group. He pauses and looks back at Robbie. "Are you coming?"

"And playing basketball? I'd rather be pecked to death by a flock of hungry pigeons," he says, waving a hand dismissively and pulling a theatrically disgusted expression. "Now get out of here."

Stingy actually smiles before he turns again and dashes off toward his friends.

-

Robbie wakes up to the ship's AI voice speaking in the same smooth, soft tone it always does. "Letter incoming," the voice says. Robbie grumbles and curls closer into Sportacus's chest.

"I have to get that," Sportacus says groggily, shifting a bit as if to get up. Robbie gives a sleepy half-growl and curls his arms tighter around the elf to keep him in place.

The letter tube pops up through the floor, sails through the air, and falls with an obnoxious clang to the ground. "See, you should have let me go," Sportacus scolds with no more intensity than an unconscious hamster.

The tube rolls over to Robbie's side of the bed and reluctantly Robbie leans over to grab it and dump it on Sportacus. "There."

"Ship, lights, ten percent," Sportacus calls as he opens the tube.

Robbie hisses and screws his eyes shut at the dim light. "Ship, what time is it?" he huffs, grateful that he finally did the voiceprint analysis to make the ship recognize him.

"It is five forty-five in the morning, Robbie," the ship says gently. "Did you sleep well?"

"I'm not _done_ sleeping yet," Robbie snaps.

"Noted," the ship replies, "please enjoy the rest of your sleep."

Robbie's just about back asleep when he hears Sportacus gasp quietly. "Oh, no," the elf says, "this is terrible."

"What?"

"Trixie has been missing since yesterday afternoon," Sportacus explains, "we have to find her."

"What? Why hasn't your crystal gone off?"

"I don't know!" Sportacus reaches over to his bedside table, paws for his crystal inside its housing, holds it in his hands and stares at it. "What is wrong with you?"

The crystal buzzes a little but doesn't light up or beep. "I guess she's just not in trouble?" Robbie supplies.

"Or my crystal is on the fritz!"

It beeps lightly as if to scold him.

"She isn't in danger, Sportacus, don't panic. We just have to find her."

-

"We start at one end of the city and work our way through," Stephanie says. "Uncle Milford and I will take the west side, Stingy and Ziggy start at the east and we meet in the middle, all right? Pixel, keep watch on the cameras, and Sportacus and Robbie--you do whatever you can."

"I'll...ask around," Robbie says. "Where's Trixie's parents?"

"She's only got her mom, an' her mom's out of town," Ziggy supplies.

"Oh, great," Robbie groans.

"Everybody know the plan?" Stephanie calls to the small group. The kids nod. "Great! Now move!"

She claps her hands once and the kids disperse.

"That's just as terrifying as it was before," Robbie says. "So what do we do?"

"I'm going to my airship, I'll do low passes over the city and look out for her with my telescope," Sportacus says. "I don't know what else I can do."

He looks helpless and sick with worry. "She's not hurt," Robbie reminds him, lays a hand on his shoulder. He's shaking. "She's not hurt, so we'll find her."

Sportacus nods, eyes glassy as he meets Robbie's gaze. "Right," he says, "thank you, Robbie, please let me know if you hear anything."

"Of course," Robbie says, and Sportacus is up the airship's ladder in a flash.

_Now, if I was Trixie, where would I be?_

-

It's an hour of searching before he thinks to look at the police station.

The man at the front desk--Officer Obtuse, says his name tag, and Jesus _Christ_ , that's a terrible last name, at least Robbie chose Rotten but good lord, "Obtuse" can't be deliberate--looks up when Robbie comes through the door. "Can I help you?"

"I've lost track of a young...friend," Robbie says, "she's about fourteen, three ponytails?"

"People gotta be missing for 48 hours before you can file a missing person report," the man drones, and Robbie blinks. Maybe the last name is a warning.

"No, you misunderstand, I'm asking if you have her here."

The man's dull eyes widen. "Oh," he says, as if coming to some deep understanding. _Fat chance of that,_ thinks Robbie, uncharitably. "Let me go find out."

He waits for what feels like an interminable amount of time before Officer Obtuse shows back up. "Yep, she's here. Beatrix Hada, right?"

Beatrix. Trixie. "Yes, that's her."

"Oh, good. Are you her dad?"

Robbie is pretty sure that if he says no, he's going to be chased out. He's also pretty sure that if he says yes, Officer Obtuse, who is apparently very aptly named, will believe him without question. "Yeah," he says, "what happened? Why is she here?"

"She was caught spray-painting naughty words and symbols on the side of a building downtown somewhere," the officer says. "The courthouse, I think."

"I'll pay the fine," Robbie groans, swiping a hand over his face. "Or bail, or whatever. Just, can I please take my daughter home?"

Robbie hadn't been anticipating that he'd have to write a 400-dollar check and also pose as a delinquent child's father today, but well, life's full of surprises. As soon as the fines are paid Obtuse leads Trixie out from the back; her eyes widen in shock when she lays eyes on Robbie.

"Ah, there she is, Beatrix, my daughter," Robbie says too-loudly, shooting her a meaningful look and glancing pointedly at Officer Obtuse. "Haven't your mother and I told you not to do graffiti?"

Trixie looks blank, then confused, then understanding settles on her face all in the span of less than a second. "Hi, dad," she says, "are you bailing me out?"

"Yes, young lady, come here. Thank you, Officer," Robbie says, and Trixie follows him from the station.

"Thanks, _dad_ ," she says the second they're out the door and starting down the street toward their suburb.

"Why'd you get arrested for spray-painting wieners and the F-bomb on a government building, kid?"

Trixie's eyes narrow. "I don't really feel like getting lectured, so if you don't mind--"

"I'm not interested in lecturing you, I'm asking why you got _caught_ ," Robbie says. "You're not a dumb kid and you could've gotten away with it."

Trixie doesn't argue there.

"So why'd I find you in a holding cell?" he asks when they stop at a crosswalk; he hits the button to cross and leans, arms crossed casually, against the pole.

"Why do you give a shit?" she asks bluntly, and Robbie shrugs.

"I'm a sucker for mysteries, what can I say," he says, "but also, I know what it's like to try to get the attention of a parent who doesn't care."

Trixie's cool, aloof expression melts away; shock registers in her eyes and her jaw drops. It had been a shot in the dark on Robbie's part, but apparently it hit home.

"Bingo," Robbie murmurs.

"Shut up," Trixie snaps.

"Mom or dad?"

"You first."

Robbie lets out a sigh. He's not going to hear anything out of Trixie unless he shares his own story. "Dad. Mom died when I was 16. Never home and when he was it wasn't fun. Either ignoring me or shouting at me." He shrugs. "At least the shouting was something, though."

Trixie's silent as they cross the street. "Mom," she says, finally. "Don't have a dad. She--she's always busy. Or out of town. I figured if I was in the slammer she'd have to come home. Maybe, y'know, give her a wake-up call? But she didn't even--didn't even answer her phone. Didn't even, didn't even call back when I left a message."

Christ, she probably wanted to teach Trixie some kind of lesson. "It was a good try," Robbie says, careful not to show any pity, because he's pretty sure Trixie would react badly to that.

"I guess. I know better now, though."

They walk in silence back toward their section of town for a few moments. "Robbie?" Trixie asks after a while.

"Hm?"

"Thanks for bailing me out."

"Yeah, no problem, kid."

"And Robbie?"

"Yeah?"

"Please don't tell anyone my name's Beatrix," she says, "it's horrible."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Tricky."

_-_

Stephanie nearly tackles Trixie, hugging her so tight she almost wheezes with it. The rest of the kids pile on and make it a group hug, and Sportacus wipes his eyes with the heels of his hands, relieved and grinning.

"Where was she?!" Stingy asks Robbie.

"She was--"

Trixie looks to Robbie with wide, pleading eyes.

"--why don't you ask her, I've got better things to do than recount such a boring story," Robbie huffs, and Trixie lets out a tiny sigh of relief, her gaze softening.

She explains roughly what happened, but skips neatly over the parts about her mother. Sportacus scolds her for the graffiti, but gently, as if he knows the reason for it anyway--and hell, he probably does--and she doesn't complain.

 _Thank you,_ she mouths to Robbie. Robbie smiles.

_-_

It's almost nine PM and Robbie's having a nice lurk around the town--not a _walk_ , and surely not _exercise_ , he's just...scouting out a place to sit and enjoy the silence, because Sportacus is already asleep for the evening, and Robbie isn't anywhere near tired and he doesn't feel like hanging around in the sparse airship with only his unconscious fiancé as company--when he catches sight of Pixel rooting around outside his home, looking under the doormat, in flower planters, wherever he can think of.

"...What are you doing," Robbie asks, head tilting.

He snaps up straight, looking surprised for a moment before relaxing. "Oh, it's you." He sighs. "I locked my key in the house, and of course it's when my retina scanner's all messed up, so I can't get in!"

"So knock on the door?"

Pixel shakes his head. "My parents aren't home," he explains, "I just gotta find the spare key!" A pause. "If there is one."

"So... wait for them to get home?"

"Hah!" Pixel gives a genuine laugh. "They're gonna be gone for like two more weeks!"

"Two--" Robbie's brow furrows. His parents left him here alone? Under the care of nobody in particular? In a town where villains like him sleaze and skulk their ways around? Ugh. Robbie is a general proponent of laziness, but lazy _parenting_ is crossing a line. Pixel might be the oldest kid in the group, but he's still not even fifteen. "Where are they?!"

"Uh...Canada, this time? I think?" He pushes a few buttons on his wrist computer, peers down at it and then looks back up at Robbie. "Yep! Montreal! They go on a lot of work trips. I come from a whole family of computer experts," he says, puffing up proudly. "They do important work all over the world! Serious cybersecurity stuff!" He grins. "And don't worry. We stay in touch." He taps his wrist computer again. "The magic of the Internet!"

"I... whatever," Robbie says, because he's not about to shit-talk the kid's parents when the kid clearly idolizes them, no matter how much he wants to verbally slam them into the ground for leaving their child at home alone for weeks at a time. Back to the issue at hand. "Are all the windows locked?" he asks.

"Yes," Pixel says, "I'm always really careful to keep everything locked and secure. You should see my burglar alarm."

"...Okay, so we _break_ a window," Robbie says, "grab a brick."

"Robbie! _No!"_ Pixel cries. "That's a one-hundred percent negative on the window-breaking!"

"Your loss," Robbie says, then, "I could probably pick the lock, if you want."

His eyes widen. "You can pick locks?"

"What kind of villain would I be if I couldn't," he asks, all hilarious bravado. "Stay here, kid. I'll be right back."

He returns within five minutes with a long wallet full of slim tools; he pulls out one of them and crouches before the doorknob, slides the pick into the keyhole. Within a few moments the door swings open and Pixel gasps in delight.

"How did you do that?!" he asks, eyes wide. "Can you teach me?"

He's staring at Robbie with bright eyes and absolute awe, and pride blooms uncertainly in Robbie's skull, like it's not used to being there. "Sure," Robbie finds himself saying, "okay, so locks are made up of a series of little mechanisms called tumblers..."

-

Pixel, of course, is a terrifyingly quick study. The kid's a genius, and Robbie isn't surprised. "I wanna try it on Stingy's house," he says, a gleam in his eyes, once he masters opening his own door; Robbie has to hold him back. Teaching a kid to pick locks is one thing, but encouraging a kid to pick the locks of everyone in town is quite another.

"Uh, how about you do that tomorrow. Isn't it time you were going to bed?"

"Oh." He sighs and bites back a yawn. "Yeah, you're right. I can at least get a nap before I have that raid with my guild at midnight."

Robbie has no idea what those words mean and he's not about to ask. "Whatever. Can I have my kit back?"

Pixel reluctantly hands the thin metal tools back to Robbie, who puts them back in their wallet.

"Thank you," Pixel says, "I wouldn't have gotten back in my house without you."

"It's nothing," Robbie says. "Can't have troublemakers running amok in town at night causing trouble. I was doing a public service."

Pixel laughs. "I gotta get some of those little tools in case I lock myself out again." A pause. "Ooh, maybe I can 3D print them!"

Robbie's eyes widen. "You have a 3D printer?"

"Yeah! I built it!" Pixel grins, delighted at Robbie's interest. "It's got a printing space of like two square feet!"

"Gods, that's useful," Robbie breathes, images of different intricate devices he could fabricate with such a machine dancing through his head. "That's--I'm jealous," he whines, and Pixel laughs.

"You should come in and see it sometime! If you ever wanna use it just let me know, it'll be payback for the locksmithing services, haha!" He looks at his wrist computer. "Oh, man, my mom's calling, I've gotta go."

"Yes, all right. Bye, kid."

"Pixel," he says, "good night!"

"Good night," Robbie replies. Pixel closes the door behind himself and Robbie listens to make sure he's locked it before he moves on.

-

Robbie allows himself to be dragged up to the surface regularly and Sportacus couldn't be more pleased about it. They've been having picnics and sporting events and games and Robbie's been there for them--maybe not participating in the more strenuous activities but he's there nonetheless.

It's morning the first time Sportacus sees Robbie with the kids of his own volition; he handsprings into the sports field only to discover Robbie presiding and playing referee while the kids are having a squirt gun fight, complete with hand grenades in the form of water balloons, and Robbie's provided full camouflage costumes and armor for everyone and they're laughing and yelling and having so much _fun_ and Robbie looks so _proud_ that happy tears spring to Sportacus's eyes.

-

Robbie's in his bunker working diligently on a new costume--a full recreation of an ancient Viking warrior, complete with beard, and honestly, wefting a beard is difficult, meticulous work--when he hears a knock at the hatch.

He sets down his work with a groan and walks over to yank down his periscope.

"Pinky?" he says, incredulously. She looks markedly distressed, shifting from foot to foot; there's a hat on her head, too, her old pirate hat, but she's not wearing the rest of her pirate costume, and periodically she's rubbing her eyes. She's the very picture of anxiety and Robbie hurls himself over to his control panel to unlock the bunker hatch and speak into his intercom.

"It's open, Pinky, c'mon."

"Thanks," she says quietly and within a few moments she's crawling through the hatch and tumbling into Robbie's living room.

"What's up, kid?" Robbie asks, and Stephanie frowns deeply, shakes her head.

"I--I need your help," she says, haltingly, like the words are prickly and hurt coming out.

Robbie's shocked; he opens his mouth and closes it again a few times, words failing him for a long moment before he finds them. "What can I do?"

Stephanie takes a deep breath, appears to steel herself, and then swipes off her hat, lets it fall to the ground. "See?" she says dully. "My--my roots."

Sure enough. At her part line Robbie can see a tiny bit of deep chestnut brown growing in.

"Um," Robbie says, "what's the big..."

Tears form visibly in Stephanie's eyes and she shakes her head, grabs her pirate hat and jams it back on her head, "I--it just _is_ a big deal, okay?!"

Robbie holds up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay."

"I--my uncle said he had bleach but it's expired and I--I didn't have as much dye as I thought I did, and don't have any and my allowance doesn't come in for a few more days and he's in a meeting all day today and--I just need, need a hat or a wig or something, anything, and you're the only person I know who might have something like that so--" She swipes tears from her eyes, frustrated, "--will, will you help or not?"

Robbie blinks. Stephanie's hurting, pain rolling off her in tangible pulses that are definitely not congruous with someone annoyed about their roots showing. There's something deeper going on here and obviously this is a big goddamn issue for her, and Robbie wants to know why but he also knows that this is not the time to ask.

He darts over to his disguise machine at top speed and yanks down on a lever; instantly each display tube is filled with hats of all different styles. "Pick one. Just as a stopgap for you to wear to the mall."

"The mall?"

"Hot Topic is where you get hair dye in wacky colors, right?"

A new wave of tears flow down Stephanie's cheeks but she's smiling this time and nodding. "You'd do that for me?"

"I wanted to go out that direction anyway," he bluffs, "there's a craft store nearby and I needed some... pins," he finishes, lamely. "Now which hat do you want, Pinky?"

She picks a fashionable pink 20's-style hat with a white ribbon. It suits her. "Stylish," Robbie says with an approving nod. "Now up the hatch with you. Hair waits for no one."

-

Stephanie's not crying anymore, in fact, she looks a great deal calmer as they ride on the bus toward the shopping mall downtown. She regards him carefully for a long moment and Robbie kind of feels like a science experiment. "What is it, kid," he asks roughly, "do I have something on my face?"

"How are things going with Sportacus?"

"Jesus _Christ_ ," Robbie swears, "do I really have to talk about my love life with a twelve-year-old?"

"I'm thirteen," she says archly, "and yeah, you kinda do."

"What do you want to know?!"

"The truth, for one thing."

Robbie pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment. "Okay," he finally says. "I'm--I'm sleeping at night. I'm not--lonely."

"Mm."

"And I--I've gotten to know you kids. Which is...kinda... nice," he says, weakly. It's an understatement.

"Mm," Stephanie hums again, still seeming unsatisfied.

"Look, Sportacus--he--" Robbie searches for words for a second before he just gives up. "He makes me happy," he finally says. "I'm _happy_."

Finally Stephanie smiles.

"Okay," she says. "Okay." The bus rolls to a stop. "Oh, this is the stop for the craft store! Don't you need some pins?"

"Nah," Robbie says. "I just remembered I have some in my closet."

Stephanie's eyes widen, then she smiles again, brightly, and leans her shoulder against him.

-

Good Gods, hair dye is expensive. Robbie doesn't say a word about it as he forks over the cash for the bright pink Manic Panic dye and bleach.

"Thank you," Stephanie says, clutching the bag to her chest. "Thank you, Robbie!"

Robbie isn't quite sure how to deal with the gratitude so he just gives a dismissive wave and changes the subject. "It's nothing. You hungry? I'm about to starve to death."

Stephanie giggles. "Aw, we wouldn't want that, Sportacus would cry!" She nudges him with her elbow. "The food court's over near the Macy's."

"Oh, thank the gods," Robbie effuses, gives a fake stumble and leans on her. "You might have to carry me," he says with all the drama he can muster, the back of his hand laid delicately on his forehead. "I'm positively weak with hunger."

She giggles louder and shoves poking fingers into his side. He yelps and pulls back. "Assault! Battery!"

"Oh, shush, you big weenie!"

-

"Bathroom's this way," Robbie says once they're back in the bunker, and Stephanie follows him there, hops up on the countertop facing firmly away from the mirror and kicks her legs slowly as she unpackages the bleach and dye.

Robbie fetches her a towel and sets it on the counter next to her. "Do you have this under control or do you want me around?"

"Can you stay just long enough that I can make sure I've gotten all the dark spots?"

"Um, you know, Pinky, there's a mirror right behind you."

Stephanie's eyes dart to the side and Robbie immediately gets the feeling that he said something he shouldn't have. Before he can apologize, Stephanie's speaking, her fingers nervously kneading the box of dye. "I don't like looking in the mirror when I'm like this," she says quietly.

"Okay," Robbie says immediately, holding up his hands. "I'll stick around." He sits down at the edge of the bathtub.

"Thanks," she says softly. He watches as she carefully applies the bleaching cream to her roots, meticulous and experienced; she's obviously done this a lot. It's only a few moments before she's finished. "Have I got it all?"

Robbie stands and looks her over before he settles back down. "Mhm. How long does it have to be in?"

"Like fifteen minutes. Then I wash it out and condition it and then the dye goes in."

"Do you want me to go now, or..."

Stephanie shakes her head. "No, it's okay." There's a beat before Stephanie speaks up again. "My mom's hair was pink like mine," she says, hesitantly, and Robbie zeroes in on that past-tense: was. Oh, Gods, her mom's dead. "It was her favorite color."

"Jesus. I'm sorry, Stephanie."

She gives a weak smile and forges on before Robbie can say anything more. "When my hair starts getting dark I just, it feels like I'm losing her again." She tilts her head back, visibly trying to stem more tears. "Dumb, right?" she says with a watery laugh.

"No," Robbie says. "I...I get it. My mom's gone too."

Stephanie's eyes widen. "How old were you?"

"Sixteen."

"It's been almost three years for me," she replies.

"Why are you telling me about this?" Robbie asks, a little puzzled. "Not that I want you not to. Just. You don't have to. Okay?"

Stephanie smiles. "I'm telling you because you didn't ask," she says. "What...what was your mom like?"

Robbie takes a deep breath and tells her. Tells her about how his mother sang him to sleep, taught him how to sew, protected him from harm; he tells her how his mother would rock him in her arms when he was a boy, tells her about the sweet, clear sound of her laugh, how she made Robbie feel safe.

He tells Stephanie about how his mother wore her hair smoothed into a sleek, neat, shiny black pompadour.

Stephanie hugs him so tight he thinks she might be trying to choke him.

-

Robbie's awake and staring at the ceiling when Sportacus settles next to him.

"Something on your mind?" he asks lightly as he slings an arm across Robbie's waist. Robbie shakes his head and turns to face him.

"Stephanie came to me today," Robbie says quietly. "She asked for my help dyeing her hair."

"Oh, that's wonderful!"

"I learned a lot about her," he says. "Did you know about her mom?"

Sportacus sighs, eyes closing. "Yes."

"Why isn't she with her dad?"

"Her dad...thought it would be better...if she lived here, with children her age."

He can feel Robbie bristle. "So her father sent her away after her mother died because he didn't feel like taking care of her."

Sportacus hesitates, then nods. "Essentially, yes."

Robbie winces and closes his eyes. "Of course." He curls up under Sportacus's chin. "I think I finally understand why you're so protective of these children. Why you agreed to live here."

"Yes?"

"Because there's nobody else to protect them. You're their parent, Sportaflop. Ziggy's an orphan, Pixel's parents are across the globe, Trixie's mom ignores her, Stingy's parents--"

Sportacus tenses. "They're _bad_ ," he says forcefully. "Very bad."

"Yeah. And Stephanie's only got her uncle, who's..."

"...Mayor Meanswell," Sportacus finishes. "Enough said."

"I get why you love them," he murmurs.

Sportacus feels warm inside at that, one hand rubbing gently between Robbie's shoulders. He can feel Robbie's breath warm against his collarbone, cuddled up close. Robbie's been good to the children and the children have been good to him in return. "I'm glad," Sportacus says. "I knew you would once you got to know them."

Robbie noses up against his neck, kisses absently at his pulse point before he sighs and rests there. Sportacus is almost asleep when Robbie speaks again. His eyes flutter open at the sound.

"Hmm? What?" he mumbles groggily. "Sorry, Robbie, didn't quite catch that, can you say it again?"

"I just...realized something."

"Yes?"

"If I marry you, I'm not just getting married, am I? I'm adopting kids."

"I think," Sportacus says, pulling back to meet Robbie's eyes, "that they've already adopted you."

"You think so?"

"Mhm." He smiles and nudges his nose against Robbie's.

"I think...I'm okay with that."

"So, what do you think? A March wedding?"

Robbie grins.

**Author's Note:**

> now all they gotta do is tie the knot, folks....
> 
> title from My Silver Lining by First Aid Kit. good song, yo
> 
> and still  
> nobody tells the mayor what to do  
> *jazziest saxophone solo yet*


End file.
